04 October 2009

Chapter 202 - The Stillness Before Time (Compendium)

CCII

Are you a slave to time?
Or simply a portal witnessing
A dream in its momentary unfolding?

* * * *
What distance exists when all contexts
Are within the mind of the dreaming.

* * * *
It would take a lobotomy
To believe the concoctions
Some people dream up.

* * * *
What life offers is empty
But for the essential nature
That connects its eternal unity.
Be wary of empty offers.

* * * *
There always comes a point
When the ocean wave crashes,
When the hiker reaches the summit,
When the fire has nothing left to burn,
When the projectile hits its mark,
When the wind grows still.
Nothing can be forever
Except forever
Its Self.

* * * *
To care or not to care,
That is the question.

* * * *
If you truly love, how can it be only for your own?

* * * *
Embrace death,
And what is there to fear?

* * * *
A very dangerous thing
To allow self-interest
To dominate common sense.

* * * *
How quickly it all comes and goes.

* * * *
Full of nothingness.

* * * *
Time unravels all.

* * * *
Only a heart uncommitted to anything is free.

* * * *
Soft are the lips that conceal the fangs.

* * * *
Speculation aside,
What makes you believe
You had any choice whatsoever
Over the body and life you were given?

* * * *
Chances are many people
Would not appreciate knowing
What you truly think of them.

* * * *
Who but a mirage wants anything from a mirage?

* * * *
Whatever you have done was done by a dreamer,
Not the real youness prior to consciousness.

* * * *
No matter how well or poorly to treat it,
The body will ever fall away,
And you will be back in the eternal
That can never be more than masqueraded.

* * * *
It is you and you alone
Who create all pleasure and pain,
All joy and sorrow, all sanity and madness.
Blame no other.
Discern only your own interpretation.

* * * *
The record spins on and on, still or no.

* * * *
The picture is far greater
Than you can ever imagine.

* * * *
Freedom is not something to imitate or pretend.

* * * *
A spacious mind is the truest home.

* * * *
Time swallows up all it creates.

* * * *
It is mad to have so many children
Being born across the planet.
What are we thinking?

* * * *
The barbarians have arrived,
And they are us.

* * * *
Thought coalesces too slowly
To grasp anything but illusion.

* * * *
The masses do not discern
They are not all that unique or different
Than any other herd, school, flock, drove, or pack.
Even the freest are caught by the winds
Of their human predisposition.

* * * *
So many trying to save that which was never at risk.

* * * *
Assumptions upon which personal existence is based
Are rarely flexible enough to change dramatically.

* * * *
The serene beast is without peer,
Absolute in its manifest vision
Of creation and destruction.

* * * *
Guilt is solely of human invention.

* * * *
Does your life suit you?
If not, why not?
Better to have the courage
To live even one day unburdened and free
Than a lifetime incomplete, destitute, and sorrow-filled.

* * * *
Spontaneity evaporates in a busy, filled life.

* * * *
Even genius is mired by its inherent limitation.

* * * *
Even those basking in the limelight
Of unmitigated adulation
Are totally alone.

* * * *
It’s rarely a good idea
To pat yourself on the back
For a job well done.
For some odd reason,
Others tend to quickly tire
Of you informing them
How great you are.

* * * *
You can only extrapolate the existence of another
Through the depth and breadth of you own.

* * * *
You may imagine you are
Whatever delusion you have concocted,
But what you really are will ever be
The same as everything else.

* * * *
Thought tends to wander into suffering
In the inattentive, undiscerning moments.

* * * *
Why do you continue to look for something more magical than you?
For some special moment which will give your existence
More meaning than any other up to now.

* * * *
All meaning and purpose is in
Whatever is unfolding
Right here now.

* * * *
Tme, the grand weaver of illusion
To which we all capitulate
Again and again.

* * * *
You seek to be worthy,
Yet could there ever really be
Even one moment when you were not?

* * * *
Pain is the great humbler.

* * * *
You pander is so many ways
To so many vain thoughts.

* * * *
How boundless the power
Of this world’s panoply of dreams
To ever entangle you in all the thoughts
And emotions they evoke.

* * * *
How can any soul be naive
After a long, torturous life?

* * * *
Be open to misfortune.
Any river winds through many moments
To embrace the sea.

* * * *
Without the passion,
Would you have ever
Thought yourself alive?

* * * *
The journey to, through, and beyond heaven
Is a solitary sojourn, a soliloquy
Wherein the beginning is the ending of time,
And you become That to which even godness aspires.

* * * *
Can you ever really change anyone’s dream?

* * * *
To ignore the impact
Of technology on the future,
How foolish we are.

* * * *
How many lies will you partake
Before you can hear the truth?

* * * *
Who can say what will become
Of this lengthy array of ditties?

* * * *
Who is not a chameleon
In one fashion or another?
Your genetic line did not survive
By being stupid in their time.

* * * *
You cannot see the insanity until you go mad.

* * * *
Do not even begin to believe the scribe was some perfect personality.
He was just another frail, vain, silly boy just like all the rest.
Perhaps a notch or two more weary
Of the way consciousness is being played out.
A bit more observant than some, and tad less than others.

* * * *
Very different, very much the same.

* * * *
Attachment to a geography is a limited view.
Home is whatever here and now you reside.

* * * *
Sometimes the eternal voice within
Echoes more clearly than others.
It is the witness of the changing,
Sometimes large, sometimes small.

* * * *
What can one do
But surrender
As gracefully as possible
To the grace of the eternal nature?

* * * *
And what, pray tell, is a meaningful death?

* * * *
A peaceful, transcendent mind is
When the ruts of thought disappear.

* * * *
In space all things are seen.

* * * *
The font of time hath no illusion.

* * * *
Don’t know what I am.
Just am,
Amming away.

* * * *
Light and sound
Are like time and space,
Inseparable.

* * * *
Be servant, but not slave to any other.
Follow your own voice wherever it may lead.

* * * *
There is always something fresh and invigorating
About having nothing, and the ever-beginningness it entails.
Security and comfort tend to foster stagnation and decay.

* * * *
The pain of existence is the bother, not death.
The black rose is the blossom of any creation.

* * * *
The quark is just another tentative name
The scientists have glommed onto
In their vain effort to prove this dream real.
Have no doubt they will take their all their naming
As far as perpetuity, resources, and imagination will allow.

* * * *
The spring of time is within.

* * * *
Suspend.

* * * *
If you were not godness,
There would be an other.

* * * *
Call it meditation, prayer or whatever you will,
It is ever witnessed by the same stillness.

* * * *
Dance for as long as you like.
Sooner or later, you are the floor.

* * * *
What rational being would not prefer a world
That is fair, just, and equitable for all?
Is it really necessary that any of us
Foment so much pain for so many others
In order to further obsessively insatiable ends?

* * * *
Don’t poop in your own pond,
Or in anyone else’s, either.

* * * *
Women are raised to believe they are truly fascinating,
And have a great deal of difficulty understanding
Why men lose interest as their youth and beauty fades.

* * * *
Does anyone really have
Their own life so perfectly together
As to tell another how to live?

* * * *
The law of this scribe’s mind
Is that all shall become their own law
Which shall inclusively allow all others their law.

* * * *
Fairness, justice and equity for all
Need not be just an idealistic notion
Within the confines of your dream.

* * * *
How to describe the wonder
At how all these thoughts
Have with so little effort
Written themselves.

* * * *
It is the nature of ants, bees and other creatures
To so aimlessly wander this garden with such great purpose.
How amazing that we consign such vain motives
Upon that which requires none.

* * * *
Unraveling yourself into your Self is effortless work.

* * * *
You are only what you imagine yourself to be
Because you have been conditioned since birth
With little, if any, real choice in the matter.
To liberate one’s Self of all claims
Is the ultimate challenge.

* * * *
The mind’s capacity for folly
Is nature’s joke upon itself.

* * * *
A true parent does not pounce
Upon their child’s innocence
With their own vain reasonings.

* * * *
Allow others to till the ground
Of their own souls as they will.

* * * *
Be less occupied with shaping another’s universe
Than comprehending the mystery of one’s own.

* * * *
Though the whole world is me,
It knows me not.

* * * *
Wisdom and truth are hard won.
The fires of suffering do not shape weak alloys
Into enlightened blades of discernment.

* * * *
What will you do if what you want to dream
Does not mesh with what significant others want for, or demand of you?
Will you abide in your inner vision, or succumb to another
To which you are ill-suited or disinclined?

* * * *
What strength it takes to wander freely in this world.


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The Stillness Before Time (Compendium)
© Michael J. Holshouser 2009
World Rights Reserved